Their Country Loved
by Jesuslovesmarina
Summary: It's the Fourth of July and the Avengers aren't doing anything. Steve thinks they could have at least bothered to celebrate his BIRTHDAY, if they're so dead set on ignoring the day that made their own country a self-governing nation.
1. Happy Birthday, Steve

**A/N: What do I post on holidays? Steve-centric oneshots, apparently. What is this, like the third in a row? Steve is just so lonely I have to make sure he's okay whenever holidays roll around! Give him a life already, Marvel, come on.**

 **Please enjoy the Fourth (or what's left of it, anyway!) and please review!**

…

 **Their Country Loved**

Steve rubbed his eyes awake as he X'd off the current day on his paper calendar.

July 4'th, 2013.

 _Huh._

His birthday had, at least, never been a difficult one to remember.

He pulled on his track pants and sweatshirt and headed out of his Tower suite, aiming to get some training in before the day's inevitable festivities began.

He was a tiny bit excited. The Avengers had become like his replacement family, so to speak, now that everyone else he knew was dead and gone. They weren't the 'live and bleed together' type; none of them were; but at least they all shared a space from time to time. After joint missions, they all tended to congregate at the Tower to rest and recover before heading back to wherever they each, individually, called home.

Their most recent mission, to investigate several Hydra uprisings in Bolivia, had been surprisingly low-key for the first few days. On the last day, however, an acid-spraying weapon had been unleashed on the team and now they were recovering from a few minor burns.

All of them excepting Banner, of course, who was recovering from the emotional drain of a Code Green. The Hulk was a willing member of the team—for that, Steve was grateful. That didn't mean the peaceful doctor was overjoyed when they required _that_ particular kind of service.

The Captain nearly ran into the doctor on his way to the gym. "Morning, Banner," he offered a polite smile.

Bruce blinked at him sleepily. "It's morning?"

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "What time did you think it was?"

"I dunno," Bruce slowly reached up and scratched his head. He looked exhausted. "Evening, maybe? The middle of the night?"

"Did you sleep at all last night?"

"No, I was up—running schematics on that—new alien tech-scanner Tony and I were working on," Bruce tried to suppress a yawn, but didn't quite make it in time. "Guess I'd better head to bed, if it's already that time."

Steve hid his disappointment. It was the Fourth of July, and Bruce was going to be SLEEPING for the better half of the day. "Sleep tight," he chuckled, clapping the older man on the shoulder before pushing the door to the stairwell open.

He found Thor already in the gym. Steve resisted the urge to grin maniacally when he remembered that Thor was _clueless_ —he wasn't even from planet Earth, let alone America. He would be surprised and pleased to learn about the annual celebration of the humans he'd become acquainted with.

"Pleasure to see you, as always, my friend," Thor pushed himself up from an insanely high stack of weights and shook Steve's hand with his own sweaty one. "What challenge would you care for us to engage in today?"

"Eh, how about a couple of deadlifts?" Steve suggested, examining the weights. It had been almost two years since he'd gotten his abilities, but he still nearly hyperventilated when he allowed himself to think about the sheer amount of weight either him or Thor were capable of lifting. _Easily._

"An excellent choice of exercise," Thor agreed. "In my realm, we have an annual celebration that forces us to engage in similar patterns of movement. There is a mighty contest to see who can throw the most livestock into the river from the furthest distance."

"Sounds like fun," Steve grunted, settling his own weight stacks beside Thor's. Neither of them could work out with ordinary sets of weights—Tony had had theirs custom-designed. Steve would lift at least six hundred pounds each rep while warming up, and Thor could lift nearly twice the amount. At their max, they were both around two thousand.

Steve was just somewhat relieved to not be the biggest person in the room all the time; he hadn't grown up that way. Thor hardly noticed his size—a fact which had caused more than a few accidental bruises among the smaller members of the team.

"You make your lifting appear effortless," Thor grunted, nodding to Steve from his own deadlift position.

Steve cocked an eyebrow at Thor's nearly twice as heavy stack. "You call that easy?"

"I merely suggested that _you_ might require a greater challenge, not myself."

"You're afraid to try," Steve taunted.

"I am not afraid," Thor replied defensively.

"Are too."

"You are most certainly mistaken!"

"Prove it," Steve chuckled, dropping his weights as Thor dropped his own, glared at him, and wiped the sweat from his brow as he added several hundred pounds to his stack.

"This is why I purposefully avoid you guys when I'm working out," a new voice grumbled as Tony entered the room, dressed in his sweats as well. "What is this, a sumo wrestler competition? World's Biggest Sweat Challenge? Come on, everyone knows Thor can do better than that," he taunted as Thor braced himself to lift again.

Steve laughed as Thor gave them both an exasperated look. "By Odin, it's as if the two of you think I am a god or something."

Tony and Steve burst out laughing even harder, and Thor just watched them, confused.

"Did I say something humorous?" Thor glowered.

"Forget this," Tony continued chuckling. He threw the towel he'd brought down with him over the laundry rack and headed back toward the elevator. "Jarvis, tell the chef to send up waffles for breakfast. I'll come back later," he rolled his eyes at the overly-competitive weightlifters.

"Would you like your waffle with strawberries and blueberries in the shape of the American flag, Sir?"

Steve's ear perked up for a second.

Tony stopped in his tracks, thoroughly confused. "Uh—why would I want that, exactly?"

"Because it is Independence Day, Sir."

Steve wasn't expecting the utterly dejected look to cross Tony's face. The Iron Man hung his head backwards, groaning. "Crap," he muttered. "Is it, really? I hate the Fourth of July."

Something told Steve to keep his mouth shut, although he was almost dying to ask why.

Chances were, if he brought up anything holiday-related, he'd get a round of teasing and a whole roster of new patriotic-themed nicknames from Stark.

…

Steve and Thor finally finished their exercising and came up for breakfast. "Natasha," Steve greeted her as he watched the young assassin stock her plate with a number of—interesting—Russian foods he couldn't begin to name.

Natasha gave him a friendly smile. "Ready to get back to D.C. yet?" she asked him.

Steve shrugged. "Not really," he replied, as he and Thor began working in tandem to cook their usual fare: eggs and bacon with toast, cereal, and at least two kinds of fruit along with generous helpings of fruit juice and coffee. "It's been really nice, having the whole team back together again. Even if it is for a short time."

"Can't deny that," Natasha raised him a glass of vodka.

Steve tried not to wince as the scent of it wafted toward his nose. "I can't believe you drink that stuff for breakfast," he pushed it away.

Natasha grinned and sipped it herself. "Your loss."

Thor was talkative at breakfast, but Steve felt himself rather moody as he ate so Thor and Natasha ended up chatting over his head. He'd forgotten Natasha was a proud Russian and probably didn't even care about the Fourth.

His team could have at least remembered to celebrate his _birthday_ , though. Really. They'd celebrated Natasha's only a few days ago, and of all people, Natasha was the most likely of the group to hide her birth date from the rest of them.

Steve's day was kind of obvious. It was recorded in comic books printed between 1946 and 2004. He was used to _everyone_ knowing annoyingly personal details about his life, and now not even his team seemed aware.

None of that took into account that Steve, Cap or no, loved the holiday. Ever since his mother had taught him its meaning, they'd celebrated it solemnly together. America's freedom had made all the difference for their family. It had made it possible for them to live, and for his momma to have a full and meaningful life.

It had meant she could make enough money to take care of him, and they had never had to be separated because of his illnesses. In Ireland, he might have ended up permanently housed in a charity hospital. Instead, he had gone to school and lived a good life. He had fought. He had been there for his mother's final years. He had met Bucky.

Independence Day wasn't important to him because he was Captain America.

It was important to him because he was an _American._

A loud explosion suddenly shook the Tower, rattling the three Avengers' table and causing their food to crash to the floor.

The three of them froze for a second, unsure of what to do.

That was when Natasha sighed, loud and exasperated. " _Clint!_ I know that was you!"

Clint, in his everyday clothes—actually, blue jeans and a red-and-white T-shirt—appeared in the doorway sucking on the edge of one thumb. His face and hands were covered in soot and grime. "Uh—" he started, "—where's Tony?"

"What just happened to the Tower?!" Tony came thundering up the stairs, seeing Clint staring at him as soon as he threw open the door. He pointed at the archer, who had a guilty look growing on his face. "What did you do? 'Fess up!"

"I—might've set off one of the fireworks that was meant for tonight—?"

Tony stared at him blankly for a second. "Why the heck were you setting off fireworks?"

Clint gave him one in return. "—because it's the _Fourth_ of _July_?"

Tony continued to stare.

"Independence Day?" Clint exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "The best day of the year? The anniversary of the greatest country on Earth? –Steve's _birthday?_ C'mon, Stark, you needn't act like you're _surprised_."

The sound of someone else's feet on the stairs preceded a half-asleep Dr. Banner stepping into the room, looking mildly alarmed but more like he just wanted to go back to bed. "Did something explode?" he asked Tony. Then he saw Clint. "You burned your thumb."

"Yeah. Hurts like the dickens, too."

Bruce blinked at him sleepily. "You should—you should be more careful with your fingers. You're an archer."

Clint rolled his eyes. "Three hundred and sixty-four days of the year, I _am_. But _this_ is Independence Day! Come on, guys? A little patriotism, here?"

"I'm not even from America, Clint," Natasha, apparently used to this yearly display, complacently sipped her vodka.

"Neither were any of our forefathers!" Clint exclaimed loudly, with the air of giving a practiced speech. "Every one of us came to this country with a purpose in mind, and even after three generations, mine is finally starting to figure out how to actually be free and to live with opportunity and equality as an undivided nation under God, and I'll be darned if I don't burn my whole hand off if I have to to show how proud I am that I can live to defend it every single day!" he finished, his face turned bright red as he stood an inch or two taller than he normally did.

Steve grabbed the last slice of bacon off of his plate and leaped up. "I'll help you!" he exclaimed, running toward the elevator.

"Finally, at least somebody else cares!" Clint threw his hands up in relief, stepping back inside with Steve. They hit the button and headed back up to the roof, watching as the rest of the group gawked at them as they left.

"Well, there's a side of Legolas we don't see every day," Tony quirked an eyebrow.

"Every year, it's the same story," Natasha sighed, shaking her head as she finished her breakfast. "He's nuts about this holiday, I swear. It's ridiculous."

Clint and Steve, meanwhile, emerged just below the rooftop access door together and immediately headed outside onto the roof of the Tower.

Steve's eyebrows shot up when he saw the stockpile of fireworks Clint had managed to obtain; also, when he noticed the damage caused by the rocket that decided to go rogue on him a few minutes ago. "It's a wonder you didn't lose your head," he commented with concern, picking up some stray pieces of debris.

"Yeah, got a little too excited, I guess," Clint grinned at him from behind his sunglasses.

Below them, New York City stretched out like a panel on a map; a living one, with moving cars and tiny people inching their way block to block.

Steve looked out at it and grinned back at the archer.

"What are we waiting for? This is going to be amazing!"

"Thank God, someone else actually _appreciates their own country_!" Clint directed the last part of this sentence through the roof access door, down into the hallway.

Steve chuckled, sorting through boxes of firecrackers and actual, full-blown fireworks. "I don't think they can hear you."

"Nat can," Clint informed him matter-of-factly, grabbing a box and ripping it open with an arrowhead from his pocket. "I ask her to help me every single year. She thinks I'm crazy."

"Well, we'll show them, won't we?"

Clint laughed. "We sure will!"

They worked for a few moments, Steve exclaiming over a few of the really cool designs he found in Clint's stash.

"Oh, and Cap?"

"Yeah?"

"Before I forget, happy birthday."

 **Leave a review and let me know what you thought! :D**


	2. Fresh Starts

**Hi, Everyone!**

 **I can NOT believe it's been an entire year. Y'all left so many amazing comments and reviews on this story last year, so, although it's once again late in the evening, here is Part 2 as requested!**

 **We get a pretty in-depth look into a unique part of Natasha's backstory, and although it wasn't my intent, if you squint *really* hard, there's a bit of Romanogers.**

 **Enjoy, my friends. It's CAPTAIN AMERICA'S BIRTHDAY! as a certain two-year-old friend of mine is very excited about ;D**

…

 **Their Country Loved: Part 2**

"The only reason I'm pretending to be okay with this is because we're best friends," Natasha swallowed her mouthful of cherry coke with a grimace, leaning back on the picnic blanket with her sunglasses settled firmly over her eyes.

"That hurts, Nat. Right here," Clint pointed to his chest.

"Don't say anything more about it," her voice had a dangerous edge.

A tinge of fear appeared in Clint's eyes. "Yes, Ma'am." He caught Steve's eye from where the Captain was perched on the edge of the blanket, silent as he looked around him as if him so much as moving would break the stained-glass moment. Clint laughed at him. "What's the matter, Cap? You're stiff as a corpse."

Steve gave him a tiny, nervous smile. "Don't get me wrong, Clint, this is great; but I'm utterly clueless as to how you got everyone out here."

Tony was on his phone, Pepper had arrived and was checking and rechecking the picnic basket for silverware and napkins, Bruce was snoring under a large tree, and Thor was twirling his hammer on one thumb dangerously close to Natasha's head because he was bored—however, every single one of the Avengers was out in Central Park.

Having a picnic.

A normal, everyday, Fourth-of-July family picnic.

Steve was sure there must have been blackmail involved, and he was afraid to ask what kind.

Suddenly, Thor's hammer slipped from his finger and, with a metallic shearing through the air, flew up and over several children's heads across the lawn.

All six mouths opened, as Thor's hand instinctively reached out to call it back before it could hit anyone.

"Rrrrrrrrrgraurghf!" The high-pitched dog's yelp interrupted them.

Steve and Clint both turned, eyes wide, to watch as a huge black lab leaped up and caught the handle in his mouth, landing smoothly on all four paws.

Thor stared with his hand still outstretched, dumbfounded at the sight.

The dog stood, panting and with summertime drool running in foamy streams down the sides of his mouth, leather and iron clenched firmly between his teeth.

Even Tony's attention was ripped away from his phone by now. The all stared at the animal, as it looked left, then right, then straight at Thor before trotting right over and dropping the huge metal weapon in the god's lap.

He "Rruff!"ed again, wagging his tail before planting his bum right in front of their blanket and panting up at Thor expectantly.

Nobody knew quite what to say, but then Clint broke into a huge grin. "Harbo!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers in front of the dog's face and clapping his hands. "What're you doing here, boy?"

The dog's attention swerved from Thor to Clint, and he bounded up with recognition onto the blanket beside the archer, nuzzling against every inch of clothing he could find to leave his shedding fur behind on. Clint just laughed and slapped Harbo's sides affectionately.

He was a huge dog, but just young enough that his coal-black fur didn't have a trace of grey in it. He flapped his ears with a shudder of pleasure when Clint rubbed his belly, and the rest of the Avengers could see that he was missing part of one ear.

Harbo then caught sight of Natasha. Clint smirked as the animal trotted over to her, despite the fact that his sandwich got stepped on in the process. Clint scooped up his damaged food and settled back with his hands behind his head as the dog, intent on getting at least SOME kind of recognition from his other best friend, nosed his huge head up under her arm and stuck out his long tongue to lick her face.

Natasha tried to ignore him, grimacing as she pushed him away. "Yeah, I really needed that," she grumbled sarcastically, growing frustrated as the dog continued to peruse her. "Go play puppy wrestling with Clint."

This was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Harbo assumed she meant she wanted to play like puppies with _him_. He bounded up, paws up on her chest and shoulder, knocking her sunglasses and drink to the ground and nearly taking her with him.

"Arggh!" Natasha growled, shoving him off hard enough to make him yelp. "Get out of here! I hate you!"

Steve's insides froze. He'd never heard or seen that kind of outburst from _Natasha Romanoff_. She was always the picture of poise and determination. She wasn't exactly one to lose her temper, no matter how provoked. Was she joking around or did the dog really get to her that badly?

Clint gave him a warning eye, which suggested the latter. Steve was flabbergasted.

Banner and Thor looked up from the food and were soon engaged in keeping the dog's feelings intact by crooning and petting him like he was a furry baby, but Natasha merely frowned deeper as she wiped off her face, resettled her sunglasses, got up and began walking away.

Steve offered Clint an inquisitive look, but Clint was looking in another direction.

Sure enough, someone else was approaching. A woman of middle-age, rail-thin with long black hair and very fair skin came striding up on long legs, hands on her hips. "Clint Barton," she shouted behind her sunglasses, "Did you seriously just kidnap my dog again? Oh, hi Nat," her expression changed instantly with her tone as Natasha marched by on her way out.

Natasha ignored her.

"Hey!" the woman called after the Black Widow. "Can't even stand the sight of my face now, huh? What is your problem, _Nat?!_ "

Tony was amusedly watching the exchange. "What, are they ex-assassin partners or something?"

Clint sighed loudly, from beside Steve, and turned away as though he didn't want to watch what happened next.

Natasha whirled around on the black-haired woman, giving her a hard stare for fifteen long, hardcore seconds.

The taller woman folded her arms and gave the Russian assassin across from her an equally intimidating stare.

Steve's eyebrows went up. Clearly, the two were an even match for each other, and that certainly didn't happen often to Natasha. (He guessed.)

Slowly, smoothly, Natasha's chin lifted slightly and she spun on her heel, turning her back and striding away. The message from her gait was clear: Follow Me, and Die.

The other woman huffed, seeming to melt a little like a marshmallow in the sun before dragging her feet over to their blanket.

"When you said there'd be fireworks…" Tony began, but Pepper stopped him with a warning look.

"Is she—going back to the Tower?" Steve whispered to Clint in a hiss, speaking of Natasha.

"This animal is remarkable!" Thor was exclaiming, off to the side, still engrossed entirely with the dog carrying his hammer.

Clint shook his head, dejected. "Probably. She doesn't really like this holiday," his eyes met Steve's. "Siddown," he then turned toward the newcomer, jerking his head toward the blanket. "Plenty of room for you to come claim your runaway dog."

The woman gave him a look. "He doesn't _run_."

"From _me_ ," Clint's mouth quirked up.

"Or Hobby."

"You can't live vicariously through your son, Kate."

"You have no idea how much I want to stick my tongue out at you right now."

"Yeap, then all the Avengers will know just how much a nine-year-old you really are!"

"For a guy who taught himself nautical physics without even trying, you suck at math. Hi, everyone," she turned and waved to the rest of the group, appearing to have shaken off her bickering faceoff with Natasha.

"Everyone, this is Kate," Clint waved his hand around lazily. "World's most immature archery student ever." He smirked.

"Not the one covered in dog hair because I'm wearing a white shirt and playing with a black-haired dog," Kate sassed back at him, swiping a taste from his beer before plopping herself down on the blanket. "Hi, nice to meet you guys," she extended a hand to Thor, then Bruce, and Clint scooted over as she continued to introduce herself. "I see you've already met my dog."

She settled in, grabbing a sandwich from the basket, like she had been part of the group forever. Before long, she and Thor had struck up a conversation.

"Whaddaya say we go for a walk, Cap?" Clint suggested bluntly.

Steve was more than happy to oblige.

As he and Clint walked the length of the park together at a leisurely pace, Steve found himself realizing that it was best not to ask Clint questions if you actually wanted information.

He was a spy, after all. It was better to let him come out and speak on his own. Training that spies received was no doubt geared toward resisting potential interrogators, and that training probably involved dealing with seemingly friendly questioners as well as the terrifying, overt ones.

Not asking questions was the way to earn the trust of a spy. Yet, not even he had been able to earn Natasha's full trust. At least, that's the way he saw it. He knew she was a special case, but that made him want all the more to figure out how to ally himself with her.

"Sorry about that," Clint started, catching Steve off guard. He'd been expecting it would take Clint longer to speak.

"What about?" his brow furrowed.

"Nat and Katie don't get along, but they used to just fine," Clint explained, tilting his head back to look at the sparse clouds in the bright summer sky. "Nat doesn't want much to do with her old life. And by her old life, I don't mean the KGB. I mean when she first started training for SHIELD. Took her forever before she started talking to _me_ again."

"What happened?" Steve's forehead creased. He wasn't aware of any significant events in Natasha's life following her recruitment to SHIELD. He assumed when she darkly alluded to her demons she was always referring to the Red Room.

"You'll have to ask her," Clint shrugged. "I know—I know almost as much as she does. In a way, I know even more of what went on after she was compromised, but I wouldn't tell you 'cause it's not my story to tell. Thing is, being part of this—part of _us_ —was just the thing she needed."

"And who is Kate?" Steve asked, confused.

"Old friend of ours." Clint's eyes took on a distant look. "See, Nat won't talk to Kate anymore. She's part of the old life; you wouldn't have recognized Natasha back when I first brought her from the Red Room, Cap. She was young and cute she loved dogs, and she was so proud to live here in America after all the Red Room put her through. Thing is, she respects you. You're the guy who gave her a fresh start as an Avenger. Maybe you could talk to her. She might just tell you why she hates this day so doggone passionately."

…

Steve wasn't sure he should be the guy to do this, but Clint had told him to and he wasn't about to risk letting a chance at getting to know Natasha better go to waste.

He found the superspy cloak-and-daggering behind a newspaper on a park bench, in such a conspicuous place he knew immediately she intended to let him find her.

"Thought this was supposed to be our day off," he joked, taking a seat beside her, but avoiding her gaze. "Or is this what spies look like when they take a day off?"

Natasha coolly turned a page of the paper she wasn't reading. "Why're you here, Rogers?" she asked in an undistinguishable tone.

Steve shrugged. "Who doesn't like _dogs?_ "

Natasha smiled at that, laying her paper down on her lap. "Got a little emo teenager you never expected to see from me, huh?"

"Well…"

"I don't like Kate," she clarified, her eyes still hidden behind her glasses, but her voice sounding sincere. "It's not her fault. She just doesn't understand—I used to look up to her. Now it feels like I'm always looking down."

Feeling like he was getting somewhere a lot faster than expected, Steve nodded. "What changed?"

"Everything." Natasha stared at nothing in particular. "The same things that made me want to be a soldier instead of a spy. The KGB found me," she explained suddenly, "years after I had been inducted into SHIELD. They tortured me for two years. Brainwashed me. I've been trained to kill and extract information almost since I could walk, but this was different. Somewhere along the line, I gave in. I made the choice to let them turn me into a monster."

Steve sat beside her in stunned silence. "That's why you don't trust anyone," he acknowledged finally. "Not even SHIELD."

"I don't trust myself around SHIELD. I almost don't trust myself around Clint, but he showed me that he knows how to get through to me, just like I got through to him when Loki brainwashed _him._ At least he understands, in a distant kind of way."

"And Kate doesn't."

"Kate isn't the one who searched for me for three years and never gave up, not even when the stories became so bloody and deranged he never should've come near me, let alone held an arrow to my throat and chose to bring me back here instead of killing me."

"Back home?" Steve ventured.

A slight smile crossed Natasha's lips. "I don't think I deserve to call America my home."

"I don't think anyone _deserves_ their home, per say," he mused. "Whether it be Russia, America, England; Germany, or someplace else. Nice thing about this country, though; you're welcome to make yourself at home here, no matter where you're from. Whether you 'deserve' it or not."

She turned to look at him, pulling her sunglasses from her face and blinking her large green eyes twice.

Steve turned to her as well. "It's a good way to have a fresh start."

Natasha smiled. A real smile this time, not her fake, clever, espionage-ing smile.

Picking up her cherry coke from the space beside her on the bench, she raised it and took a sip, passing it off to Steve. "Here's to fresh starts."

He smiled back, tipping back the can and finishing it off for her.

…

 **What'd y'all think? Not the backstory you were expecting for Nat, eh? XD Let me know your thoughts in the hungry box below!**

 **Happy 4'th, once again, peeps. You guys are the best.**

 **Love, Marina**


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